grey

what did you say that made me drift away? i offered myself to you in a house that smelled like burning beans, stale rice, cold dressing flung on the countertops.  i slid my finger across the table writing i’m broken in spilled flour but you didn’t even flinch. it’s too cold to go back, a series of distant memories remain within reach but i’m not as broken as i was that time, and you’re pretending to climb up trees that have been gone for years. i’m constantly pouring wine where it doesn’t belong, closing my eyes and breathing in deep slumbering redness. i’m soaked with the life that exists in my head, and i’m sure i sleep with a confused smile on my face. waves of light are constantly regulating the mediocrity i have grown to define; i am anything but average, i tell myself. the sun speaks to me, knows what i want and feel, knows when i need it, needs to know, wants to know, knows i feel, and occasionally spits on my head. this city lacks the potential to eat me alive; it’s okay; i’m dead already in this broth of familar fury.

yellow

This constant connect-the-four-dots-that-would-make-a-square-if-the-one-dot- wasn’t-such-an-outlier thing is eating my skin, my bones, my eyelashes, my smile, everything. You are going to lose and it’s difficult to feel bad for you, even with that smile those eyes the way your hands feel in my hair, even with all of this and the past stupidity that I am so naturally inclined to grasp with every inch of skin on my hands, you will lose. I’m floating along but staying in this same place that swallows me whole, tears my skin apart in a healthy attempt to inject life into pores that otherwise lay still and void of colour.

I laid down on the earth and soaked it all in, the grass seducing my feet tenderly, the bugs begging to enter between my cold lips, eyes closed, pretending that the heat of the summer could make me forget how it felt every single time. What, do you think that I can’t taste you anymore? The wind was teasing my tangled pride as I imagined myself slowly flying upward, raising my arms into the sunshine that was so perfectly heating my skin. There is something about the way he looks at me, knowing how completely imperfect humans are and seeing me in a completely different light. What is it about me? I can’t look at you like I look at the ones who have killed me in the past, the way you walk talk touch breathe live connects our cores with an invisible string, constantly moving extending molding to the way we exist. I want you to float with me but you’re already floating, floating away then back then closer and closer until you’re a part of what I have come to hate, self-loathing that lasts an hour at least, desire that pours into my glass with one stare in the right direction, one movement in the right manner. I cannot predict the winner but if history choses to repeat itself, she will end up in a pool of blood that swallows her whole. Without denial, the end is the end.

excess disgust

i really am too minimalistic for any of this. there was a silver beam in the middle of the room and i was tied to it for too long, crying at his how his sadistic neural networks were wired, wishing to be anywhere else. i was three, and eighteen years later, it’s all i can think about, some days. i want to publish a memoir of how tangled hair has spoken for me over the past few years, shivering from thigh bites and bruised mouths yelling FIX ME NOW over and over again, but there’s no one to fix me and my scars aren’t so quirky anymore. i realize i make no sense when the clock strikes two, when it’s dark and everybody’s panting at each other, eyes lit with desire, mouths dripping with foul words and lies, pouring out so easily. i haven’t had a monogamous bone in my stupid body for the past 21 years and now i’m sitting here ready and willing, a scared idiot refusing to give myself what i deserve. truth be told, i’m tired and broken and sick of playing this role i have so effortlessly fallen into. i fall in and out of lust for somebody that doesn’t give me anything but these stupid bruises i am so disgustingly obsessed with. there is nothing nice about a life filled with anger, nothing nice about people who disregard sunshine and shut the door tightly right when the cool breeze is beginning to flow in, nothing nice about being jaded to the point where she looks at each human thinking this person is going to tear me apart, this person will eventually violently rip my life wide open and ruin my progress. how is this a healthy lifestyle? her mouth is forced shut as she crouches down by the ground, hiding her cigarette because she doesn’t know where it came from, she doesn’t know how she got here or where she’s even going next, she’s got no plan, just a sack of hope that’s been stomped on for the past few years. i feel like it was just hours ago that i was dreaming of being left alone in a stadium with a dead body, being abandoned by the one person i’ve known for the past ten years. she left me there, left me with the stupid man who spoke to me from beyond this life in a voice that covered my skin with goosebumps and familiarity. i love the shit out of you but when i think about it, i love absolutely nothing about you.

bruised graduate

my head is on the verge of exploding with ideas, dreams, desire, and i remain packed tightly into a cardboard box, unable to escape. walking around on a sunday hidden in a giant mass of black fabric, a stupid square cap on my head, shivering as i watch the past four years of my life freeze and compacted into the toes of my shoes is not my idea of living, it’s still bothering me and i can’t shake this terrifying feeling. i feel accomplished yet completely broken from everything i have ever dreamed of. sunday night i forced smiles, wishing i could really feel what i wanted, and in the end i gave in, let a boy cover me in lustful bruises, cried with my head against his chest and helplessly tried to drown myself in a pool of optimism. monday morning i said goodbye to a 10 by 5 enclosure that has destabilized me over and over, i am always saying goodbye. i stare at my bruises in the mirror and wish for more, but it all just seems too far away.

don’t you want to be found?

i’m graduating college in 12 days. what? how did this even happen? my roughly 30.page (lookin like it might be longer…) honors thesis needs to get submitted by friday, and i need to present to the department. after that, i’m done. done with college. again, what??

oh and i think i may have swine flu. how appropriate that i’m ending my college career by being sick, just how i started (and spent most) of my college career.